


i'm putting you in quicksand (you take your chances)

by glockenspielium



Series: fitzsimmons week [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Academy, Angst, F/M, First Time/Last Time, Fitzsimmons Week, Post Season 2 Finale, SHIELD Academy, challenge: sia lyrics, fitzsimmons alone together, fitzsimmonsweek, nerds being nerdy together, season 2 finale spoilers, the youngest babies of the lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 05:08:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4816172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glockenspielium/pseuds/glockenspielium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>day three:<br/>first (fəːst) - the first occurrence of something notable<br/>last (lɑːst) -  coming after all others in time or order; final</p><p>(alone together)</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm putting you in quicksand (you take your chances)

_the pressure's rising (I won't make it through the night)_

He's been in the library for almost six hours when the bells indicating closing time begin to chime softly, reminding the students to pack up their projects and borrow out their books. Glancing up at the clock, Fitz curses softly, wondering how his younger self could ever have appreciated the pathetic excuse for a secondary education he'd been accelerated through back home. He's smart, yes, but without a full understanding of the basis of physical chemistry, he can hardly hope to catch up to the other students before their first test. 

There's five minutes left until they're meant to leave, but there's no way he can study back in the dorm, cramped in with two other recruits and no desk or light after 11pm. It's a split second decision but it's not a difficult one - he sweeps the papers and books into his satchel and heads off down the aisles, a book in hand as if to replace it back on it's shelf.

Once he's rounded the corner of the second last row, Fitz ditches the book and hurries to the end of the aisle, wedging first his bag and then himself into the small gap between the wall and the mahogany shelf. It's a tight fit but he can just make it if he tucks his hands in carefully and turns his head laterally, inching along against the wall until he's completely concealed by the wood. It's hardly the most dangerous thing he's ever attempted, but since his invitation to S.H.I.E.L.D. was conditional to good behaviour, his heart is pounding erratically. It seems loud enough that the security guard would be able to hear it as he stalks down towards him, but he's still several meters from Fitz when (apparently satisfied with his inspection), the guard turns around and heads back to check further along, and that's when Fitz hears a long, low sigh of relief from the shelf beside his. 

He almost goes to turn his head in the direction of the noise, but it's impossible to negotiate any space between the two hard surfaces, so instead he waits until the footsteps are too far to hear and then mutters, as quietly as he can while still carrying enough for this other person to hear-

"Be. Quiet."

There's no response initially, aside from a sharp intake of breath, and then a whispered-

"Speak for yourself."

The crisp British accent is a surprise, as is the twinge of aching familiarity that follows, but he presses his lips firmly together.  She, too, appears to be resolved in silence for the moment, but soon enough the lights are turned out, the heavy carved doors are slammed shut with a resounding boom, and they are alone.

Fitz quickly dislodges himself, finally able to turn his head in time to catch another fugitive slip out from the shelf's end beside his. She's surely almost as young as he is, although it's hard to be sure in the darkness, which would be slightly comforting if he wasn't so irritated by her copying his idea.

"Nice one, copying my idea and nearly getting us both caught, honestly." She's whispering, despite the empty building,  brushing dust from the front of her jumper. He can hardly believe her audacity.

"Your idea?" He manages that much before-

"Well I was here first, thank you very much," Her eyes glare daggers in the dim light, "Unless you've been lurking in here somewhere for the previous two nights without my knowing, which seems highly unlikely." She seems irritated rather than genuinely angry, but sharp as a knife either way. "I've been incredibly careful to ensure that my time here is not discovered, by anyone, but as you're already here I'd just ask that you don't go snitching on me, which would be foolish anyway because, well, how could you know I was in sneaking in after hours if you hadn't been there yourself?"

Fitz opens his mouth to retort, but she's already ploughing on.

"Anyway, if you're here I doubt you're the type to be reporting to the superiors, so I'll just assume that one's taken care of, so all you have to do is make sure you don't go bragging to your friends and-"

"I don't really have any friends." He doesn't mean to sound so pathetic, but regardless she falls silent in time to catch his words. There's a moment of silence, while he waits for the pitiful reply, until she finally responds with-

"Well that makes it easier." She seems reassured of her safety, and now that she's no longer whispering, he can differentiate the enraged tone from earlier with the almost mindless muttering occurring now.  "I really don't have any friends here myself, not that that would be a change in pace, although I had hoped that the significantly raised IQ of the students here would make us slightly more compatible for social interaction, but perhaps that will come later on. I suppose it wouldn't matter, I'm better working alone anyway."

"Well, me too." He catches her as she pauses to take a breath. "On both counts really." There's a beat as comprehension dawns.

"So that would make you Leopold Fitz-"

"It's just Fitz." No one is allowed to use that ghastly name, he's ensured that since he's been able to form a coherent sentence. "And you're Jemma Simmons, biochem rookie, youngest-"

"-recruit since Abdul, yes, Simmons is fine, but only by a few days now that you're here too!" She finishes for him, her face  folding into a surprisingly wide smile - it suits her far better. "I've been trying to track you down, you know? But biochem and-"

"Engineering don't really tend to mix yeah." He can't help but finish the ends of her sentences- she just makes sense (and doesn't appear to be bothered by it either) and it's nice to talk to someone who doesn't have to be guided step by step. "But I think I may have seen you in the SciComms lecture? Sitting down the front?"

Her cheeks flush suddenly in response, perhaps because in this particular lecture, she is often asking and answering questions with enough gusto to carry the entire class. She is also almost always right. He's always been impressed by her intellect and enthusiasm, but from where he sits in the back row, was far more familiar with the shrill of her voice than the bright face currently in front of his.

"You're no laggard yourself, _Fitz_ , or have you forgotten the 1999 UK Youth Science Talent Search in which you defeated me, and the rest of the opposition, and won the two thousand pound science grant?" The smirk, he finds, suits her too. "I was absolutely furious, of course, but I could see that your project was far better than mine - did you end up building a full scale version of the engine in the end? I was almost as impressed by the fact that you'd made it out of scrap metal as I was by the superior-"

"- cooling mechanism, yeah, which was why it could be so much lighter." He'd almost forgotten about that competition. The application has been sent in before the accident, and afterwards, he'd received the cheque in the mail, surprised only enough to be finally proud to be able to give his Mum something useful, to help with rent and food- "Ah, never really got 'round to finishing that one actually."

She doesn't reply instantly but scrutinises his face for a few long moments. He doesn't say anything either, not entirely certain how to proceed, but she eventually turns away from him, and unzipping her backpack, pulls out two parcels wrapped in butcher's paper and, with barely a second's consideration, hands one of them over to him.

"Here, it's no good trying to cram on an empty stomach." He opens his mouth to protest, but- "Come, if we sit on this desk over here the light from the street lamp is sufficient to see by without needing to switch on one of the lights in here and risk someone seeing in through the window."

Fitz, not wanting to seem ungrateful, pulls out two sticks of gum from his pocket, passing one on to his new study partner. "The security team tends to patrol this route every 45 minutes, so if we do need the light, we could set up a timer with their first watch, just to be safe. Maybe some sort of sensor device along the path from the main hall would be better but-"

"- we can leave that until after Prac Chem and Spec exams are over." He nods, hauling his bag onto his shoulder as they make their way back down the bookshelves together. She's an inch or so taller than him, but their strides are well matched. They're almost at the desk when pulls out a copy of her chemistry notes and holds it out to him with an expectant raised eyebrow, "Want to look over mine in exchange for yours? We have to stick together, you and I."

He hadn't expected that. 

 

_loving you to death, loving you to death_

Jemma understands that not everybody working on this base has at least one doctorate of science, she really does, but it would be nice for whoever kept moving her (their) equipment from it's designated location to grasp even just a most basic understanding of their instruments, and perhaps stop touching things that belong to them.

"No, I don't," She barely looks up from the box she's rummaging through, trying her best to find a new gel pack to run electrophoresis with, "You keep rambling on and on and I still don't know what you mean!"

From where he's standing, Fitz can easily see that she's distracted, but that’s not enough to stop him this time.

"Dinner-"

"Fast approaching, yes, and we'll eat it, I'm sure."

"Yeah, no, no, no." The words aren't even the hardest part (this time). "But, uh, me and you -  maybe we could eat somewhere else, you know, somewhere- nice."

She finally looks up, putting him out of his anxious waiting. At first he's not sure if the surprised look on her face is any better, but then a small smile lurks at the corner of her lips, slowly splitting it's way across, and she nods.

Oh.

He's gone over every possibility, every imaginable excuse to say no and how he would respond. He's practised them, in his mind (or at least he hopes it wasn't out loud), the exact phrasing so he wouldn't stumble over the words as he told her it wasn't really anything serious, he was just craving some proper food for once, that it wasn't a big deal and there were actually several complex and dangerous experiments currently underway that he should really be supervising and he wasn't even in a position to be leaving site for a meal, or drink, or something. Despite everything, he hadn't actually anticipated her saying yes.

Right, okay then.

Their eyes meet again, and there's a subdued rush of adrenaline buzzing through his veins that he does his best to conceal, leaning casually against the glass case, his cheeks itching. Before he can muster a smooth reply, however, something snaps beneath the weight of his body and he stumbles forward, mercifully recovering before he actually falls over.

Fitz leans on door and it snaps 

"Good. Okay." She's still smiling up at him in that little, quiet way that’s so unlike the headstrong Jemma, that's never there when someone else it, that he's not seen enough times of late. "Well, er, well, you should come find me when you're finished here, and - and I'll start working on options to run by you, for that."

He doesn't quite scurry to the door, but as it closes behind him, Fitz has to absolutely focus not to look back. He manages, of course, he's not some pathetic sap (and no one should listen to Skye and her perspective on the matter, heaven knows why he thought running the plan by her might make it easier). But only just.

There's a pause, his last words hanging in the air, where she is still, as if waiting for something to happen, for everything to blow up again. But it doesn't, and it still doesn’t as Jemma walks to place the box back on console, wondering at what point she has learnt to anticipate disaster at the smallest sign of happiness in her life. It only when she stands up that she notices the slight angle of the door sitting open where Fitz had been leaning.

With the slightest roll of her eyes, Jemma steps forward to reattach the locking mechanism, muttering to herself with the smile still warm on her lips-

"Oh, Fitz."

**Author's Note:**

> obviously this won't be the last time that they are alone together (glares at season 3), but for the time being I will indulge in this angsty take on the prompt


End file.
